


So What

by monkiainen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drunk Texting, Epiphanies, Gay Bar, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Post-Divorce, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21545968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkiainen/pseuds/monkiainen
Summary: All Greg wanted was to get a few drinks and hook up with a decent bloke in the aftermath of his divorce. Things took a turn for the worse, until they are better again.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2019





	So What

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyricoloratura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyricoloratura/gifts).

It was a gloomy and dark November night, and it fit Greg's mood all too well. Today had been the final straw – today had been the day Greg had told Suzanne it was all over for good. No more second chances, no more trying to salve their marriage. Truth to be told it had been over the moment Suzanne had chosen to sleep with another man.

Greg knew he should be feeling sad and lonely and miserable. But he was not any of those things. It was a relief to be his own man again, not trying to be something he wasn't and failing. It had worked the first few years when Greg had been able to fool himself thinking that it was exactly what he had wanted all along.

But it wasn't.

Suzanne had been nice in her own way, but she didn't understand Greg's bisexuality so Greg stopped talking about it. Nor did she really understand what it was like to be married to a DI working for Scotland Yard, despite Greg telling her about the demands of his work over and over again. It was all for the best, really, that they were going to get a divorce.

Greg was supposed to have the weekend off unless someone was murdered, so it was a perfect chance to get wasted and celebrate this new turn his life had taken. Maybe if Greg was lucky he could pick up some decent bloke in one of the gay bars in the area, just because he was now free to do so. Oh, there had been temptations, but Greg had never acted on them while their marriage was still good and well. One doesn't go around cheating their spouse just because they were tempted by a good-looking bloke _(even if the other party in their marriage had done exactly that and worse)_

Dressed up in his tightest jeans and nicest shirt Greg did exactly the thing he wanted, and soon found himself at Rupert Street. The place was full and lively, just the way Greg wanted. A couple of drinks later Greg soon found himself talking and dancing with other patrons and feeling better than he had felt in ages.

A man around Greg's age approached him, smiling as he introduced himself. All the police instincts in Greg's mind screamed for him to be careful, not to trust the other man – there was something off about him, even if Greg couldn't point it out. Greg had learned to trust his instincts over the years, and they had never failed him before and probably wouldn't now. So Greg smiled politely, laughed a little, and explained as politely as he could that no thank you, he was here just to have fun, he wasn't looking for a company _(a little white lie, because that had been one of Greg's intentions that night – he just didn't want to hook up with the fishy guy)_ but it had been nice to meet, now he, unfortunately, had to go.

Twenty minutes later Greg found himself at another bar. While it wasn't as crowded as Rupert Street had been, there were still a few potential guys Greg could see himself with if everything went alright. A few drinks later Greg was about to suggest the guy he had been flirting the past 35 minutes that maybe they should move their conversation to somewhere more pleasant when a reflection in the mirror across the room caught his eye.

Damn it. It was the fishy guy from the previous bar. Had he followed Greg there? And for what reason? With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Greg realised he was feeling way too drunk compared to the amount of alcohol he had been drinking, and the fishy guy was looking at Greg like a predator. Bloody hell. Greg should have known better than to get bloody roofied the one and only night he was actively looking for company. 

Think, think. What could he do? Greg knew if he left the bar the fishy guy would surely follow and do whatever he had intended to do with Greg - and it wouldn't be pleasant. Where was his knight in the shining armour when he needed one?

Later on, Greg couldn't explain what made him text to Mycroft Holmes of all people, but at that moment it felt like the best solution available. His hands were shaking, his eyes were getting all blurry, and Greg was quite sure he had murdered the grammar with his screen mashing. Now, all Greg could do was to wait and hope help was coming his way.

It felt it had been hours, and Greg was starting to feel even worse. Damn it. And now the fishy guy had approached him, was petting Greg's hair and whispering lewd suggestions to Greg's ear, copping a feel. Greg could do nothing, nothing, to make the guy stop. It was as if he was frozen in place, his mind screaming help but no one noticing. Why wasn't anyone doing a thing, Greg blurrily thought to himself. Surely they could see Greg wasn't being himself, and the fishy guy groping him was not someone Greg wanted to get intimate with.

Suddenly the fishy guy wasn't there anymore, and someone was helping Greg up to his feet. That someone was slightly taller than Greg and smelled vaguely of tea and ink and something Greg couldn't name but found very soothing in his current condition. Greg was all but carried outside and placed into a car waiting outside – his feet weren't co-operating with him anymore. And then it all went black.

Next morning, or perhaps it was the next day for all he could say, Greg woke up in a strange bed without any idea where he was and how he had gotten there. His head was throbbing, and he was feeling nauseous. But the greatest concern Greg had that he had absolutely no memory what had happened last night. This was bad. Really bad.

Before Greg could panic more, the door to the room he was currently in opened and Mycroft Holmes stepped in. Okay. There was probably a very reasonable explanation of why he was housed by Mycroft Holmes, although Greg couldn't think of any. Okay. Concentrate. 

Greg realised he still had all his clothes on from the previous night, sans the shoes that were placed next to the bed. None of his clothes had been ripped or put back on wonkily, so it was a safe bet no one had tried to remove them without Greg's consent. No smell of semen, which was good, so… what had happened then?

Mycroft had taken a seat next to the bed, close enough for them to talk but no too close so Greg wouldn't feel crowded. Explanations were given, a story of last night's happenings reconstructed, a question of legal formalities raised. Everything had turned out fine in the end, so why did Greg feel like utter shit then?

Maybe it was the unspoken need for another human being, maybe Mycroft Holmes did have a heart hidden somewhere, but to his surprise Greg found himself crying against the shoulder of the other man. It wasn't perfect, far from it, as Mycroft was probably feeling as awkward as Greg was, but it was something.

They never talked about it again.


End file.
